


Queen

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21835300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: Pansy is lost in time and while Tom Riddle has no intention of helping her home, he does mean to give her a crown.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Tom Riddle
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48
Collections: Dumpster Fire SS 2019





	Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrsMast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMast/gifts).



> Happy Holidays to MrsMast! I hope you enjoy this little thing I wrote for you! 
> 
> Shout out to MrsRen and MCal for their eyes on this. This piece is unbeta'd and any mistakes are all mine!

How many days had it been? Too many to count. Time was now measured in longer fragments, weeks that bled together with no reprieve in sight. 

There’d been a whole thing; a whole _ ridiculous _ bloody thing where she’d been sent back and was supposed to do something or other but honestly, it now felt different.

They’d left her here. 

Maybe as a punishment, maybe as an oversight. Which was worse?

A long, strangled groan escaped her and she reached for her flask, pulling it from its safe hiding place. She dumped too much firewhisky into her punch, then stowed it safely again. 

Salazar’s saggy sack, she hated this bloody time period. So prim and proper and fucking  _ hoighty _ ; at least in the world Pansy had come from, there’d been some fun. But  _ no _ , here it was all hand-holding and courting and stupid bloody romance. And fuck it all, but now it was Christmas. 

Christmas at Hogwarts. But it was just different enough, even down to the smells of the feast and the decorations on the tree; it wasn’t enough to trick Pansy into thinking she was home. The Yule Ball was in full swing, twits, and bints swirling around to a droll band that Pansy couldn’t even pretend to feign interest in. 

Her date, a bloke by the name of Hawthorn McLaggen, came by with a new round of punch —which Pansy would soon be spiking— and she gave a weak smile before turning her attention back to the dance floor. 

Fuck, she wanted to go home. 

The snow drifted from the enchanted ceiling, evaporating before settling on the floor and the shiny baubles of light drifted around the room in a hazy, enchanting, merry,  _ I-don’t-give-a-bloody-fuck-about-any-of-this _ kind of way. 

“Have I told you how much I love your dress, Pansy?” 

_ Ugh. _ His voice trembled like a virgin, which she was almost certain he was, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Of course, he loved her dress. She’d charmed it within an inch of its life until it pushed nearly every dress code possible; the slit kissed the middle of her thigh and the cool emerald silk dipped dangerously low both in the front  _ and _ the back. 

I mean, honestly. What were they going to do? Suspend her? 

Pansy’s lips pressed into a grimace that was meant to be a smile and she downed her punch in one long swig. “You don’t look awful yourself, McLaggen.” 

“Hawthorne—”

“Let’s not get too chummy, eh?”

“B-but you’re my date—” 

With a drawn back lip, Pansy flinched. “Let’s also not get to liberal with that word there, alright? We’re here together… adjacently.”

As the bottom of her crystal glass hit the table linens, the crowds parted and of bloody course, he was there. Icy blue eyes and a cut to his jaw that, under different circumstances, she would love to run her tongue over. 

Tipping his dewey flask in her direction, Pansy’s features flattened in annoyance and then turned to her handsome, albeit boring, date. “Kiss me, McLaggen.” 

Sputtering and stuttering like a fool, the poor bloke couldn’t even manage a full sentence before Pansy’s fingers were curling in his lapels, dragging him in for the snog of his fucking life.  _ Tom could watch. _

In true 1940’s fashion, the poor sod froze, hands flying into the air as though a team of Aurors were about to surround him for daring to touch a female before matrimony.  _ Idiot. _ But then, she caught the full curve of his bottom lip and bit down until he gasped; wasting not a moment, she plunged her tongue in his mouth and pushed and pulled and  _ fucking tasted _ every inch of him. 

_ Still _ , the little git didn’t touch her. No matter. He’d been seen and really that’s all she’d needed. With a hard shove, she pushed her away and brought her thumb to her mouth, fixing the smudge of her lipstick. “Run along, McLaggen. I’m done with you.” 

Moonfaced and blushing, the little Gryffindor stood rooted in his spot, flat palms still held high and mouth gaping. 

“ _ Shoo. _ ” 

He did. The little lion scurried through the crowd, hopefully, never to be seen again if she was lucky. 

More firewhisky into another punch and finally she began to feel the familiar thrumming of a buzz that made this entire night—nay, year—fade away. 

Until  _ he _ was there. A warm hand resting on the cold silk on her lower back and a rumbling growl from deep in his chest. 

“Parkinson.” 

“Hands off, Riddle. Before I hex you something silly and get myself detention.” She eyed him long and hard from the corner of her gaze, her drink hovering near her painted lips as he chuckled and withdrew his touch. 

“I don’t see why you treat me this way, Pansy. We are as inevitable as the tides: no matter how they fight they shore, they always come back.” 

“Fucking hell,” she hissed under her breath, eyes rolling in the back of her skull. “Get it through your fat skull, Riddle—I’m not dating you. Not now…” Her throat tightened, thinking of an impossible future where the handsome man next to her would end families, kill children and bring the wizarding world to its knees. “ _ Not ever.” _

“The thing I like, and detest, about you Pansy is that you speak in absolutes. I, myself, am a man who sees things not as they are; I see the  _ possibility _ . You are a wonderful possibility. There is a world out there, waiting to be taken.” He shifted, moving infinitesimally closer until the heat radiating from his chest pulsed into her. “It could be ours.” 

And while her mind wanted to wander with fantasies of being trapped underneath his strong body, she wrenched her mind back to reality. This was Lord Voldemort, not the handsome seventeen-year-old with a too-bright smile and a quick wit. 

“I’m here to stop you, Tom. I’ve told you time and again. I’ve no idea  _ how _ I’m going to do that, but—”

“Yeah, I know, Parkinson.” He hushed her with a wave of his hand and pressed closer in, a hand drifting  _ far _ below what any sane person would deem appropriate. “But what if you didn’t. What if you joined me?”

Her dark eyes snapped up to his, her breath catching painfully in her lungs as she studied the serious pull to his brows. 

“What if you weren’t my enemy?” His voice dropped even lower, lips brushing sinfully against her ear and she felt every hair follicle on her skin stand and scream. “What if you were my queen?”

_ Queen. _

It’d just been  _ so _ bloody long. She was forgotten in another life, left to rot. She’d been trapped here months with no end in sight and fuck it all but she wanted it  _ over. _ And then there was the warmth of him against her hip and the way she could  _ feel _ his heartbeat syncing with the thundering in her chest and— _ maybe. _

Queen of the Dark Lord sure seemed better than Pansy Parkinson, ex-girlfriend to failed Death Eater and future bargaining chip for her father. 

_ Queen.  _

A slow, drawn-out grin pulled at her full lips. Her hand ran from his chest to the inside of his cloak, snagging the chilled metal of his flask. After tipping it to her lips she winced and gleaned up at him. 

“Tell me more.” 

_ Queen.  _


End file.
